


Hands

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2013-07-16
Packaged: 2017-12-20 09:42:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/885783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since the night Boyd died at his hands, Stiles had been there</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hands

Derek still remembers it vividly. The wet floor he was kneeling on, the quiet, agonising sobs, the figure lying on the ground, motionless, the blood on his hands. The hand on his shoulder. Stiles.  
Ever since the night Boyd died at his hands, Stiles had been there:

Stiles had been there when they had prepared for their final battle against Deucalion, repeatedly reciting every tiny detail of their plan like a mantra. Like they stood a chance.  
He'd been there when he tried to pick up the remaining, fractured bits that once was his pack, when Isaac left, making the final decision of joining Scott and accepting him as his Alpha. Even though Scott was his best friend and his loyalties had always been with him, Stiles had come to the loft and just sat there, watching Derek roar and destroy and lash out at every piece of scarce furniture and crumbled brick he could reach before collapsing in on himself. Defeated. Alone. Once Again.   
Stiles was the one he had called at 2 am when Jennifer finally left him for good after seven month of a pathetic attempt on building a relationship. ('I want a normal life, Derek', she'd said and who was he to deny her that?) He didn't complain when Derek slipped through his window. Said nothing when he sank to the floor, his head dropping back on the wall beneath the boy's windowsill.   
It had been him, who had dragged an almost lifeless Derek out of the collapsing warehouse where he had tried and failed to kill the witch which had been haunting Beacon Hills for months, leaving four dead bodies in her wake. It had been Scott who defeated her eventually.   
Stiles had tried to convince Cora to stay, when she decided to leave, claiming she couldn't stand seeing what had become of her once beloved brother. 'I don't even know who you are anymore, Derek'. She had left three days later. Stiles came over that night, a DVD box of 'The Godfather' in his right hand and a sixpack of cheap beer in the other. ('Even if you can't get drunk, it's the thought that counts, Sourwolf'. The nickname made the corners of his lips twitch up just the tiniest bit.)   
It had also been Stiles who, on one bright, sunny Sunday afternoon, (nine month, one week, and five days after Derek lost Isaac to Scott) had dragged both boys into his loft, sat all of them down on the shabby sofa and demanded that they work things out. He had stood there, his arms crossed over his chest, a stern look of determination on his face and waited until they finally came to the conclusion that joining their forces once and for all would be beneficial for everyone involved ('It's about time, you losers'), and had forced them into a group hug afterwards. It helped. Things got better.  
They still weren't a perfectly working pack. Derek would never forgive Ethan and Aiden for forcing him to kill Boyd, he couldn't stop being wary when it came to Alison, couldn't pretend he didn't blame Lydia for resurrecting Peter. But he tried. And Stiles helped him. Like he always did.

Stiles, with whom Derek had his first joint after a pack meeting one night, both of them lying on the floor of his living room laughing at nothing in particular. He couldn't remember laughing that hard since he was sixteen. 

Stiles who had whined and argued and grumbled until Derek gave in and joined him to see the new Wolverine movie. It was the first time he went to a cinema after Laura's death. 

Stiles who texted him almost every day, simply asking if he was OK, because he was the first one who really cared in a very long time. 

Stiles who smiled brightly at him on his graduation day, standing on the podium and holding the Class of 2015 Graduation Speech. He thanked all of his friends for the great time and their support, Scott, Alison, Lydia, Isaac, Danny, Ethan, Aiden. And Derek. Because Stiles was the first true friend he had had since his world fell apart in the ashes of his home. 

And he remembers every moment they spend together over Stiles' last summer in Beacon Hills, the lazy afternoons and the evenings, when they would sit next to each other, watching some trashy Superhero movie and sharing a bowl of popcorn. When they went hiking through the preserve and Derek showed him all the places he used to go with his family, the little clearing where they had a picnic on his 11th birthday, the creek in which he used to swim with his sisters, trying to catch the tiny fish that swan in it and failing spectacularly, the cliff where Peter and his wife had their mating ceremony, back when his uncle was still sane and his family was whole. He remembers Stiles sad smile, him saying 'You have a new family, now'. His hand on Derek's shoulder.

And as he watches the blue jeep vanishing from sight, turning into a tiny spot at the end of the street until turning the corner, Derek can't help but wonder what this feeling of loss and regret is and why he can't stop asking himself 'what if?'.


End file.
